


This Thing

by suitesamba



Series: The "This" Series [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John returns from "sorting it out" with Mary, the day after the Stag Party.</p><p>Part "3" of the "This" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Thing

**This Thing**

ooOoo

He has fallen asleep again, waiting out the interminable minutes.

He hears John curse in the kitchen. Ah. Kettle. 

Keys. Wallet. Watch. Mobile. One after the other removed from pockets and dropped into the basket on the table.

Sherlock presses his back against the sofa cushions as John settles in front of him and bends to remove his shoes. He stretches facing Sherlock, and they meld into this new horizontal position flawlessly, and words are not needed. Subtle shifting, press of thigh on thigh, and no words. No words at all as Sherlock slides his leg over atop John’s and shifts him in closer. No words as John kisses his eyelid, his cheek, his lips. 

This kiss, slow and warm, is John saying _thank God I’m home_ and _I’m so glad you’re here_ and _fuck fuck fuck this is how a kiss should feel._ It’s a rising, pulsing, living thing, and it is not enough. 

He has been aware of this for years. This longing for what they didn’t share on top of the burgeoning acknowledgment of what they did. Aware of this thing he could not name. And not having a name for it, he could not ask for it, not with the words that were his tools, his gift, his weapon. But now, like Adam tempted, he has accepted the forbidden fruit and there will never be enough of it. 

John kisses the corner of his lips, his jaw, the hollow below his ear. 

“We should discuss this,” Sherlock says as John fumbles, one-handed, with the button of his trousers. 

“No.” John’s managed to lower the zip, to work his hand inside. He grasps Sherlock’s length and the hiss of breath, the moan, the shudder, the undulating hips belong to either of them and both of them. He is at the edge in an embarrassingly short time, on his back on the sofa, hands fisting the loose fabric of John’s trousers, and John works a hand under him, kneads the flesh of his arse, then kisses Sherlock’s chin and works his mouth deliberately downward.

John swallows around him and Sherlock knows he is ruined. But he is lost in the moment and tells himself, as his entire being is compressed into a single, glorious frisson of pleasure, that it’s just this time, just this once, just today. Just for now.

Because they still haven’t discussed this. They don’t have a plan, they don’t have rules of engagement. They’ve not _named_ this thing. 

Haven’t made promises or commitments, or decided _not_ to make them. 

“Sherlock?”

It is later. Much later. They are quiet, boneless, tangled together on Sherlock’s bed.

“Stop thinking. “

Sherlock laughs. 

“I can’t stop _thinking_. It’s what I do.” _It’s who I am._

“No. I suppose you can’t,” John concedes. He kisses Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock thinks the press of warm lips on his naked shoulder should not feel like this. Should not make his thoughts tangle into knots, should not make reason duck behind corners.

John looks at him then, and his eyes are quiet, calm. He’s happy. Content in the here and now even not knowing what this is, what it will be tomorrow. But he knows. Sherlock sees that now. He knows what is keeping Sherlock’s mind in another place.

“This thing…” Sherlock begins.

“This thing _is_ ,” John says. “And Mary _isn’t_. I think – I hope – that’s enough for now.”

And he runs his hand through Sherlock’s hair, nape of neck to crown, fists his hand in the soft, dark curls and pulls Sherlock forward into another sleepy kiss.

And Sherlock sleeps that night, in his bed, tangled with John, and saves his questions for morning.


End file.
